


A Name for a Name

by Lingwiloke



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Celebrimbor is Enerdhil, Finduilas Is Gil-galad, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lingwiloke/pseuds/Lingwiloke
Summary: Gil-galad is his name, and the crown that now graces his brow has been given to him on account of his being the son of one Orodreth, son of Angrod, and once king of Nargothrond. Or so Celebrimbor has heard say. Personally, he would like to think that his friend would have mentioned a son at some point or other, had he had one.Celebrimbor isn't sure what to make of this new High King.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	A Name for a Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esmeraldablazingsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeraldablazingsky/gifts).



> For esmeraldablazingsky, who has had to wait for this far, far too long. Inspired by [this delightful piece of art of hers](https://princess-faelivrin.tumblr.com/post/189002693528/second-age-pals). (Seriously, go check out her blog, all her art is amazing)
> 
> A note on names & terms, because sometimes I actually remember to do this:  
> Tyelpe - Shortened form of the Quenya version of Celebrimbor's name. I cannot remember if this is canon or really popular fanon, and I don't have the right books with me to check; but I like it, so I also don't care terribly much.  
> Artanis - Galadriel's father-name (Quenya)  
> Artaresto - Quenya version of Orodreth's name  
> Khazâd - the term the dwarves use to describe themselves. Finduilas and Celebrimbor are using this term in an attempt to be respectful, as (some of) the Elvish terms for the Dwarvish people aren't exactly very nice.

He hasn't met the young king yet. High King, as of this morning, crowned in a ceremony too small and too solemn an affair to call it a celebration. Gil-galad is his name, and the crown that now graces his brow has been given to him on account of his being the son of one Orodreth, son of Angrod, and once king of Nargothrond.

Or so Celebrimbor has heard say. Personally, he would like to think that his friend would have mentioned a son at some point or other, had he had one; as far as he is concerned, by all rights Tuor should have been Turgon's rightful heir. And even if a mortal High King might be pushing the envelope a little too much, he certainly can't see why it couldn't have been Idril - in his experience, the women in their family have more sensible heads on their shoulders than all their husbands and sons combined, anyway.

Regardless of Celebrimbor's thoughts on the matter, neither Tuor nor Idril seem interested in competing for the position, as long as they can ensure that the surviving Gondolindrim are well provided for. The leadership qualities of this Ereinion Gil-galad must have met with their approval, he supposes. He certainly seems quite popular, judging by the protectiveness and admiration with which his people speak of him, so that is a mark in his favour.

Well. It is not as if Celebrimbor truly begrudges the man his kingship. He himself certainly has no ambitions towards the same, even should anyone be willing to accept a scion of Fëanor on the throne. There is a reason he chose to abandon his birth name and heritage when he made it to Gondolin, after all. Part of that reason is simply that he was not at all sure of the welcome he would have received otherwise, especially if news of Finrod's death - and the circumstances surrounding it - should have made it to the Hidden City. But another part, maybe even the deciding one if he is honest with himself, was grounded in his resolution to not let himself be drawn into politics again, and the foolish hope that maybe, by staying as far away from any responsibility as possible, he would at least not drag anyone down with him.

He's trying his best to keep up the facade even now, though he seems doomed to fail in that endeavour sooner rather than later. From what he has heard, there is a not insignificant number of survivors from Nargothrond under this Gil-galad's rule, all of which would probably have no trouble identifying him for who he is. Had he not been weighed down by exhaustion and the grief and shock of losing yet another home he might have spared this particular fact more than a passing thought - surely anyone who had lived in Nargothrond must have recognized this supposed son or Orodreth for the fraud he was? - but as things stand, he is more concerned with being recognized as Curufin's son and causing a political incident, or worse.

Or worse.

The men and women that welcomed them to the Havens, after all, are refugees themselves - survivors of-

Survivors of a kinslaying.

A battle that his father has not survived.

Celebrimbor hasn't had time to fully process that reality. Coming out of Gondolin, out of fire and death and despair, finally reaching something like _safety_ \- only to learn - to learn -

He cannot help but wonder if he could have prevented this. If he had left with father - if he had followed them after Nargothrond's fall - if he had spoken up -

Could he have made them see reason?

Could he have kept the Oath from consuming them, as it drives them to consume everything in their way?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know, he will never know and it is eating at him.

The Doriathrim are kind, and amicable, for the most part; not warm exactly, but that is all too understandable. They have offered the refugees shelter, treated their wounded, shared their supplies with them.

They have not invited them into their homes. Idril has spoken to their child queen, briefly, but her advisors - caretakers? - whisked her away after that and have kept her away from the Noldorin camp since.

Celebrimbor has heard tell that she alone escaped death of the royal family.

He has heard tell that she brought a Silmaril with her.

He stopped asking after that, and he hasn't entered the Doriathrim settlement since, not even to see the High King's coronation this morning.

He can hardly hide forever, not here. He knows this. And yet... He is tired, and heartsore and just all in all not ready to be Celebrimbor, son of Curufin of the house of Fëanor once more. He will leave the Havens as soon as his wounds have healed fully, that he has already decided. He cannot afford to stay here.

Until then, he has taken up residence in one of the communal tents farthest from the edge of the Doriathrim settlement, and keeps to himself. Luckily for him, most people are too worn and grief-stricken to care much one way or the other. Some of the smith's guild have inquired after his well-being once or twice, but he has managed to convince them that he is fine, just in need of some time to process.

Today, hiding has been a little more difficult. After the coronation ceremony, the king - High-King - has come down to visit the refugee encampment. His arrival has brought a little more life to the encampment as he makes the rounds, providing encouragement, assessing the situation and discussing arrangments for supplies and helping hands with those in charge.

Hence why Celebrimbor slipped out of the encampment at the first sign of the commotion and spent the day aimlessly wandering the marchland. It's neither safe nor prudent to venture out alone, but he cannot quite bring himself to care. No orc or beast has crossed his way though, and now the sky is streaked with red as he slowly makes his way back towards the refugee camp.

He has made it about halfway up the slope leading towards the encampment when he is forced to concede that he might have overdone it just a little. Over the last half an hour, the pain of his injured leg has gone from a dull throbbing to a fierce ache, and eventually, he has to admit defeat and take a break by the side of the road. Fortunately, the day has been mild and sunny, and it's not to hard to find a moderately dry patch of ground to rest on. With a sigh, he leans back against an outcrop of rock and closes his eyes.

***

"My friend, are you well?"

He jerks awake violently to a concerned voice and a hand touching his shoulder. His first instinct is to jump to his feet and go for his weapon, only to fall to his knees again as his injured leg protests the sudden movement. It takes him a moment to realises the stranger has backed away and is not trying to attack him, and, also that, if the elf had meant him harm, in all likelihood he would already be dead.

He leans back to relieve the strain on his leg and tries to calm his breathing, though he isn't ready to relax the grip on his sword just yet. "My apologies. I confess you- startled me."

The elf retrieves his lamp that must have fallen to the ground, and coaxes the flames back to life while Celebrimbor puts himself back together. "Ah, no, it is I who should apologize, I should have known better than to approach you without warning. Let me-"

Celebrimbor looks up in alarm as the stranger's voice falters mid-sentence half expecting some enemy to jump out of the bushes. But the elf's gaze is still on him, lamp now raised and light shining on their faces.

"Tyelpe??!"

Celebrimbor's heart sinks.

The stranger grabs him by the shoulder, turning him so they are face to face. "How are you- When did you- Iluvatar above, you are _alive!_ "

His voice sounds elated rather than accusatory, so that is... something. It could be worse.

At least Celebrimbor has been recognized by someone who doesn't immediately condemn him or question his motives, who even seems happy to see him.

Someone who, even staring right into the their face now, he has _no memory_ of ever meeting. Which, considering the familarity with which he is being addressed, is sure to be a major faux pas.

It could be worse.

He attempts a smile. "I... Yes. Well met."

"How?!"

"I was able to make my way to Gondolin after... after Nargothrond's fall. Unfortunately, so was the Enemy, and, well. That is how I ended up here." This stranger must remember him from Nargothrond. Surely if it was any further back, any who wanted to know the whereabouts of Curufin's son would have had little trouble learning them?

"Gondolin? All this time, you knew of the way to the Hidden City?" _And you didn't tell me?_ seems to be the implication here.

"It was less knowing than.... well, we all heard of the eagle taking off for the mountains with High King Fingolfin's body after the Bragollach. And from there Artaresto - King Orodreth and I made a few educated guesses... But mostly, it was blind luck, if I am to be honest."

Something about his words makes a strange sadness pass over the stranger's face, but it's gone to quickly for Celebrimbor to be certain. The other shakes his head. "I can't believe you just... _walked_ into the Hidden City like that." He shakes his head in disbelief. "Couldn't you at least have tried to send some kind of message? All this time I thought... Wait, it has been over a month since you all arrived here. A _month!_ And you couldn't even be bothered to let me know you're here?"

Celebrimbor stares at him blankly. _Who is this elf?_ He casts his mind back to his time in Nargothrond and tries to match the face to anyone there he might have spent any significant amount of time with. He comes up empty. There is that nagging feeling of familiarity in the back of his mind, something about the voice, the tilt of the head... but as much as Celebrimbor wracks his brain, he cannot put a name to the face in front of him. Or a place they might have met, or ...anything really. He closes his eyes briefly. "...I'm am truly sorry, but I am afraid I must admit that I do not recall where we met before."

There is a pause, and then a quiet _oh_ and the elf abruptly lets go of him.

Celebrimbor braces himself for the inevitable - and frankly deserved - disbelief and hurt. Instead, when he opens his eyes again, the expression on his mysterious ...friend's... face has gone suspiciously, carefully, blank.

He winces internally. Anger he could have handled, but it seems like he has truly hurt the other. And he still - still! - cannot for the life of him remember who he is speaking to. He reaches out to lay a comforting hand on his arm, then thinks better of it and awkwardly lets it fall. "My friend - I am truly, truly sorry. I am aware this must mean little to you, but I am certain we can-"

"No, no - " The stranger interrupts him, shaking his head. He runs a hand through his hair in a gesture that is all too familiar but still fails to trigger a memory in Celebrimbor. "It is me who should be be sorry, Tyelpe. You are not to blame. It is just - It was such an unexpected joy to see you alive, I wasn't thinking -" He turns away abruptly, pacing back and forth as Celebrimbor looks on in utter confusion.

Finally, the stranger turns back around. "Listen. I know I have been changed greatly, but..." He bites his lip. Suddenly, he looks insecure, and very young. "We used to go hiking together, around Nargothrond. You taught me to read the runes the _Khazâd_ use to mark the mountain passes." A nervous laugh. "I also used to sneak away to visit you at the forges, when I was little. My nursemaid would give me an earful when I kept coming home with soot stains all over my white dress."

Celebrimbor stares at him blankely for a moment, uncomprehending. A dress...? There were a few people that would occasionally join him on his mountain expeditions, but the only one besides Artaresto that ever cared for his rambling about dwarven culture was-

But no, that couldn't be...

He takes a closer look at the elf in front of him. Imagines the raven locks golden blonde, white silks and glittering jewellery befitting a Noldorin princess, and yes, that little nervous twitch of the brow now, just like-

"Finduilas?" ,he croaks.

He sees a tension bleed out of him - her? - he hadn't been aware was there, and there is just the tiniest smile. "Yes." Then he averts his eyes. "And no."

"...What do you mean?"

"I am Finduilas... I was Finduilas, when you knew me. I still am, in a way." He takes a deep breath. "But I am also Ereinion now. Ereinion Gil-galad."

Celebrimbor is left speechless for the second time in as many minutes. "...What?!" He gapes. "That- ...the king, the new _High King_ \- that is you?!"

"Yes."

"But ...why?!"

"Why not? My father was King of Nargothrond, I am not lying about that." It's just a little defensive. "And I am fit to lead. You know that."

"No, I mean- you know what I mean! Why take a different name? Why-" Words fail him, and he gestures helplessly.

Finduilas... no, Ereinion? raises a brow. "Is that really something _you_ should be asking me? Idril mentioned a number of smiths among the survivors when we spoke, yet I have not heard of Celebrimbor, son of Curufin being among them."

"...Uh, well I..."

"By what name do you go now?"

"...Enerdhil." he admits begrudgingly. "But I chose to change my name to get away from... well. Noldorin politics. Clearly the same is not true for you. You - You are the High King!"

"Yes."

"You could have had that without any subterfuge. As you said, your heritage is the truth - so why invent a son for the king of Nargothrond when you could have led these people just as well as his daugther?"

Ereinion's face darkens. "You really think that is true? You know how I was treated in Nargothrond. They saw me as their delicate princess, innocent and pure, to be protected from the harsh realities of the world. Not a heiress, or a leader. They would never have listened to me."

"People listen to Artanis."

"Well, Aunt Artanis chose her people among the Sindar, who are more than used to women taking an active role in the court. Not to mention anyone who ever called her "sweet" or "naive" would have regretted those words very quickly."

Celebrimbor scoffs at that. "You have never been naive, either. You are one of the smartest people I know." he protests. "I know your father tried his best to coddle you and wished nothing more than protect you from the realities of war, but we both know you were far too clever for that."

That earns him another smile. "I was. Still, I did keep up a certain... facade. For his sake, and also... " Ereinion's smile grows sharp. "Sometimes it pays to be underestimated." He sighs. "But I needed people to trust me. I needed them to _listen_. And not just my people, who knew me well enough to trust in my lead, but others also." He pauses, and looks away. "And to be honest, Tyelpe, I... I am not the person I was anymore. I cannot be. Not after all that has happened. I never was the princess that people wanted - not really. This was my chance to be what I wanted, and our people needed - can you understand that?"

Celebrimbor isn't certain he fully understands all about Finduilas' choice to become Ereinion, but what he understands is more than enough. The struggle to live up to expectations he can never fulfill, and the need to start over - that, he knows something about.

"Yes, I think I can."

The relief on Ereinion's face at the simple words is unmistakable, and Celebrimbor feels a twinge of guilt as he realizes how his questioning must have felt to him. Caught up in the revelations of the past minutes as he was, he has lost sight of that which matters most - that his cousin is here, alive and well. "Please forgive my tactlessness. Do not mistake my surprise for disapproval. Truly, I am overjoyed to find you alive, as well." He reaches out to draw the elf into a tight hug. Ereinion freezes in surprise, but then melts into it with a sigh. ****

As they draw back, Celebrimbor winks at him.

"Welcome to the family, Ereinion."

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. As I go with the version of the story where Orodreth is Angrod's son rather than Finarfin's, Celebrimbor and Finduilas are not actually cousins; I use it in a looser sense here, because "relative" just sounded too technical/formal. If there's a better casual term for "family member", feel free to let me know. 
> 
> 2\. A note on the switches between Sindarin and Quenya names: I imagine Celebrimbor generally uses Sindarin names with most people, because of Thingol's Quenya ban; but will use Quenya names when speaking to people he is close to. Finduilas' name is an exception here because she was born in Beleriand/after the ban to a Sindarin mother, so even if she had a Quenya name, I can't imagine it was used much. 
> 
> 3\. Enerdhil is a smith from Gondolin. He appears in the "Unfinished Tales" as the one who made the Elessar (or possibly one of two separate Elessars). The idea that he might be Celebrimbor in disguise isn't mine, but I've seen it often enough in the fanon now that I couldn't say who originally came up with it.  
> EDIT: Uh, obviously the idea of Finduilas being Gil-galad isn't mine either, that just felt so obvious to me I forgot to mention it ^-^''


End file.
